


Fortune Favours the Kind

by deathwailart



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Chance Meetings, Family Feels, Fluff, Gen, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-15 23:29:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/855213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathwailart/pseuds/deathwailart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A chance meeting at the stall between a miner and toy maker, a daughter of Durin and a young prince.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fortune Favours the Kind

Royalty doesn't mean too much to someone like Bofur. Not to say that he doesn't care but it's just a simple matter of fact: the royalty don't figure too much into the daily grind of his life in the things that he's always aware of and that suits him just fine thanks. Oh they're the ones with the sway over the mines true enough and Bofur's had to deal with them more than most because he's the elected mouthpiece of the miners, affable, friendly, respectful enough and nice enough that when he's blunt no one seems to mind too much. After all, if you can make Balin smile when you're going through very tense trade negotiations about wagers and injury compensation and money for bereaved families then it probably says an awful lot about you. Not that Bofur uses it to get a better deal for himself but he likes being someone anyone feels they can talk to. After Bifur's accident...well maybe at times Bofur's acting. He tries not to change but he remembers the dwarf his cousin was and those long years and months of helping him heal with the knowledge that things would never be the same again and that's hard sometimes. He tries not to coddle Bifur, chatters away like he normally does and it works because Bifur has that light in his eyes that maybe isn't full understanding but it's Bifur and that's good enough for Bofur.  
  
If they spend hours carving figurines because it gives Bofur something to prattle on about without a weighing silence where once there were songs and stories then so be it. They need the extra coin and Bifur seems more relaxed when he's carving and painting blocks of wood. The things he makes have nightmare faces and Bofur's heart aches for his cousin then, wondering what it is he sees in the dreams that wake them all because Bifur _screams_ , desperate and like a wounded animal, not the mighty warrior he left them as. Oh Bifur's still a warrior but there's a wildness that was never there before whenever he's had to fight and he leaves only a bloodied mess, hacking and stabbing until satisfied or he's pulled away. He knows that some are wary but unless he's riled, Bifur's a gentle sort and he likes to let the little children touch the rusting axe chunk in his head with their small hands, as if understanding their curiosity. No one but Bofur and Bombur know how much he loves flowers and grows what little can be grown here in Ered Luin. That's a sort of family thing. The toy making started as a way to bond really but they always need more money, even with Bombur being a cook and Bofur working the mines and doing most of the negotiations on behalf of all the guilds, money is tight and toy making seems like a natural progression. Bofur worries about what folk will make of Bifur's work but wee badgers have apparently changed since he was a lad (he tries not to think on that, not when so many of these children were born to mothers and fathers who saw their home stolen by Smaug and no doubt passed the stories on to their treasured offspring) because they flock to his toys. Bofur's own are ones with moving parts and lighter things, fanciful creatures, animals and warriors. Bifur crafts dragons and orcs and other things with ghoulish ravenous maws and his dwarven warriors always look wild and crazed, as if in the grip of some battle frenzy.  
  
It works well though. The children usually pick a toy from each of them to do battle and Bofur listens happily to the stories they recount as they go, laughing when they thank him.  
  
"You're a damn good dwarf," one wife says as she hands over coin, keeping one eye on her child as they make Bofur's warrior toy wave its sword.  
  
"Ah it's nothing, anyone could do this," he replies, waving the compliment away even as he feels his cheeks go pink. He's always loved a compliment.  
  
"These are hard times but you give the children something to make them happy; not everyone puts such love into their craft these days."  
  
"It's the least I could do, Bifur too." And he means it but thinks little more of it, going about his life and enjoying the moments he can, laughing and smiling through the times when it seems as though Mahal is intent on testing him to his very limits because it's better than crying. Because sometimes he wonders if any of them would ever stop crying if they started.  
  
So he carries on. Thinks little of the royalty because it's not much of a concern unless he has to look out for the rights of his fellow miners and their kin. But dwarves have always loved a good gossip especially when it involves their precious children or talented craftsmanship and Bofur brings them both together.  
  
One morning when he's manning the stall on his day off from the mine, a small dwarfling – he can't quite place the age and besides, he's a blur of motion, brown hair escaping his cap and the loose braids parents favour to keep a child's hair out of the way – runs over to peer up at the wares on offer, his eyes flicking this way and that. Bofur spots who he assumes is the mother, a noble looking sort if the rich fabrics and furs are anything to go by but she seems happy enough to let her son (or charge perhaps) potter around.  
  
"Good day little master," Bofur greets because he always talks to the children as though they're people and not idiots, "I'm Bofur, what's your name?"  
  
"Kíli," the boy chirps, grinning with a gap-toothed smile. The name rings a bell but Bofur can't quite place it so he simply smiles and leans forward.  
  
"Just lost a tooth?" He asks and the boy nods. "You'll be a big brave dwarf before you know it! Now, what sort of toy would you like? I've got some handsome lions," he reaches over and makes one walk over to the boy, roaring to prompt a peal of giggles, "and Bifur over there – that's my cousin – has some orcs, frightful things aren't they?"  
  
The boy puffs out his chest. "Not scared of orcs!"  
  
"That's the spirit," Bofur agrees even as Bifur hands him a toy, watching the little boy who beams brightly. "So an orc for a warrior to slay?"  
  
A chubby hand reaches for a toy that's somewhere between a wolf and a hound, like the dogs of war Bofur assumes the royalty in some places still keep, covered in the coarse fur of a wolf when Bofur got a few mixed pelts for cheap. The lad squeaks out a growling howl, clumsily making the beast 'prowl' along the front of the stall as his mother approaches and Bofur feels the breath go out of his lungs, clutching the stall to keep him upright. He's not often lost for words around anyone – he's sociable, even by dwarven standards and well, part of his job and livelihood involves running his mouth – but now he knows why the lad's name was so familiar.  
  
"Kíli," the woman – and she's not just any woman, this is Dís, sister to Thorin, daughter of Thrain and granddaughter of Thror – calls out as she strides over, basket in one arm. "What are you up to you little monster."  
  
"Mama!" The toy is forgotten in the presence of his mother, Kíli turning quickly to wave at her and clutch her skirts when she's close enough. "Look!"  
  
"Oh aren't they wonderful Kíli? I heard stories from others," she looks up at Bofur as she talks from where she crouches by her son, "but I never knew they were so lovely. Do you want to pick something for you and for Fíli?"  
  
"Fíli!" Bofur assumes the echoing of his brother's name is a sign of agreement and collects himself as Dís straightens, looking over what there is to offer. He's had nobility here before – some distant like Dori (and Nori but that wasn't here, that was at a tavern in a shady corner) buying things for his little brother Ori, and then there was Glóin and his wife, Óin too, buying things for a baby to come. Bofur slipped them extra things for free. He knows how precious a new life is.  
  
"My lady," he greets, tongue feeling clumsy in his mouth. He's barely ever met a dwarven woman of noble blood and women are so rare, guarded so fiercely that he assumed they had others do their work for them, even here. Perhaps he shouldn't be so surprised, not when Thorin works in a forge the way he has done since the exile from Erebor if the stories hold true. "You honour me."  
  
"I speak the truth, they speak of your craftsmanship as often as they speak of how well you negotiate to keep widows and babes fed should the worse come to pass."  
  
"You've heard of that?" Bofur chokes out as Kíli goes for the lion again and the wolf, making them both bounce along to whatever tune he's humming. Out the corner of his eye he spies Bifur sliding a dragon over for the animals to attack, more growling and grumbling in the background.  
  
"Thorin works the forge as I did before I had the boys, now I help to manage the accounts and notary work with Balin and others, let's me keep an eye on these monsters," she explains, straightening Kíli's cap and hair as she does so. "Is the lion for Fíli?" Kíli nods and there's a knowing smile on her face, a private story Bofur isn't meant to know but he smiles all the same too because he loves this, bringing some joy to those that he can. "I'll take both, and the dragon," of course her lips twist – she lost more than most when Smaug came – but she looks at her son playing with such fond eyes that he senses she can't deny a boy something that makes him happy.  
  
Bofur manages not too fumble too badly as he takes her coin and wraps the toys in cloth for the journey back home, Kíli chattering away and bouncing on the spot, burbling his brother's name and a half dozen scenarios about the lion and the wolf-dog and how they'll both beat the bad nasty dragon.  
  
"I'll be sure to recommend you to others though I doubt this'll be the last trip to your stall," Dís comments with a wry grin, holding out her hand for Kíli to take.  
  
"Again, you honour me, m'lady."  
  
Not a week later there's a shiny parchment delivered to him by a young messenger, red wax seal with runes he recognises and his mouth goes dry.  
  
"Commissions for the royal princes," Bombur reads over his shoulder when Bofur can't get the words out after bidding the messenger farewell with a promise to reply as soon as possible. His younger brother's eyes are full of pride and soon Bofur's being pulled into a crushing hug. The royalty start to become a bigger part of his life after that but whenever he sees those little faces light up when he knocks on the door, Bofur knows that it's worth it.


End file.
